For King or Country
by SecretsAndLiesContest
Summary: When war rages outside and peace is no longer an option, choices must be made. How will history remember you?


**Secrets and Lies Contest Entry**

 **Title: For King or Country**

 **Summary: When war rages outside and peace is no longer an option, choices must be made. How will history remember you?**

 **Pairing: Edward and Bella**

 **Rating: M**

 **Word Count: 6,579**

 **DISCLAIMER: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entries herein. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

 **" **THESE are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman."** _**Common Sense,**_ **Thomas Paine****

The stench of stale ale and vomit clung to the air like a baby opossum to its mother's back. Another evening spent serving the foulest of men. Speaking in ways not fit to be heard by a gutter rat, let alone a young woman of sixteen.

She trudged out the back door carrying two buckets filled with putrid liquid. Sloshing around, it nearly soaked the bottom of her apron. The girl prayed to remain clean for the evening was still young. After the senior ranking officers had their fill, the junior officers would come in search of their nightly libations.

"If not but for the sake of my family. May the Lord have mercy on my soul for contributing to their sinful ways." This was her hushed plea to the heavens.

This was her life now.

She relished the rush of frigid, fresh air in her lungs once she was freed of the bucket's contents. Lifting her petticoat so it didn't drag through the mess she'd just dumped on the grass, she made her way toward the front of the tavern while another rousing chorus sang out:

 _Then let us fill a bumper, and drink a health of those  
Who carry caps and pouches, and wear the loupèd clothes.  
May they and their commanders live happy all their years.  
With a tow, row, row, row, row, row, to the British Grenadiers._

"Isabella, when thou'st finished, I need thee to ensure the upper room is adequately prepared," her uncle directed with a nod. "Captain Anderson requested we give this new transfer quarter."

"Yes, Uncle. I confirmed all the vacant rooms were equipped this afternoon in the event any new patrons arrived."

"Very well," he responded and addressed the young man. "She'll see thee to thy room."

The soldier nodded his thank you to Marcus Swan, the innkeeper of Friends' Tavern. Isabella curtsied ever-so-slightly, took the candle holder from the edge of the bar, and proceeded up the creaking steps. She paused at the landing, waiting to make certain the young soldier didn't get lost along the way. His gaze briefly met hers when he rounded the bend before moving on. There were only six rooms in the inn, but they were spread out between two floors and in opposite directions.

"This one shall be yours." She opened the door and placed the lit candle on the desk, which was tucked in the corner of the room. A single bed and cherry wood chest of drawers occupied the remaining space.

"Will you be requiring anything else this evening, sir?" Isabella studied the gentleman who peered out the frosted window. Tall and thin, dark auburn hair tied in a black bow at the base of his scalp. Perfectly polished boots, the brightest white stockings and breeches, and a blood red coat adorned with gold stitching and buttons.

"I've had a lengthy journey from York City." He spoke quietly, unbuttoning his overcoat at the neck. "Might you have any supper still available?" He laid down his white-trimmed tricorne hat and turned toward her, his face still cast in shadow.

"Certainly. Shall I deliver it here or will you be joining the King's men downstairs?"

"Here will suit me, if you please."

She nodded and backed out of the room, closing the door with a quiet click. Hearing the drunken debauchery coming from the main hall of the tavern, she admired the soldier's desire for peace.

She looked forward to someday having a similar choice.

* * *

"Hello, Miss Isabella."

"Jacob." Isabella tightened her cloak and approached the waiting lad. "You mustn't wait outside in this bitter cold any longer. I appreciate the escort but from now on, do come into the tavern and wait for me there."

There was a lighter snowfall this evening, but the late autumn cold was unforgiving. The kind where your nasal passage seems to freeze, and the corners of your eyes would form icicles if not for measured blinking and the Lord's grace.

"Your Uncle Marcus is not fond of me. He looks at me as if I've just dumped _his_ tea in Boston Harbor." Jacob snickered.

Wide-eyed, Isabella glanced around. "Shhhh!" she scolded. "Haven't you learned not to jest about such topics anymore?" She shook her head, lowering her voice. "The occupation is terrifying. There are ears everywhere, Jacob. Civilians are taken under arrest constantly. You above all people should know this. And he's _your_ uncle, too."

"My apologies. And you're correct. I've forgotten myself."

They walked in silence several dozen paces, fresh snow crunching under their feet. Galloping horses could be heard coming up behind them. Isabella's stomach seized, always concerned that shared whispers among the closest of family would carry through the wind to the wrong recipients. Witnessing fellow members of the Religious Society of Friends - Quakers- and other neighbors carted off for treason against the Crown served as a daily reminder; it was her gravest concern that her family's history would be discovered.

The pair drifted to the side of the road, allowing the riders to pass.

Once the group of British soldiers disappeared into the darkness of the nearby field, Jacob whispered. "Don't fret, Miss Isabella. I have faith that the Lord will allow our cause to emerge victorious."

"My faith is all that sustains me, Jacob. But our cause?" She shook her head. "At what cost? Father lost so much of our business because the Friends accused him of conspiring with the colonials. My mother, sisters and I have all had to spread out to make some small pittance in order to keep our farm running."

"You must trust your brother."

Isabella looked at him out of the corner of her eye and scoffed. "What brother? He's gone off to fight for King George whilst we get punished and shunned by our neighbors and townsfolk. We're struggling to put food on the table and stay warm and he's pledged his loyalty to those who've done nothing but cause us harm. Or have you forgotten your father's death in Massachusetts?"

Jacob stopped Isabella at the edge of the woods before they crossed her family's field.

"You mustn't say such things and no, I've not forgotten. Samuel loves you and would be here if it were at all possible." Jacob's next words were measured. "I'm certain his enlistment for the Crown wasn't without purpose."

"Its only purpose is to fight for our oppression to be put back under the thumb of the same persecution from which our grandparents tried to flee."

"Isabella—"

"Don't trouble yourself to explain his actions. And forgive my curt answers, Jacob. I'm beyond exhausted. Please, let's just get me home before I collapse and turn blue."

"Yes, cousin."

* * *

" **Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph."** _ **Common Sense**_ **, Thomas Paine**

"Father?"

"By the fireplace, Isabella."

Isabella followed Charles Swan's voice into their gathering room where he sat under a blanket, in his favorite Shaker rocking chair.

"Mother and the girls haven't yet returned?" Kneeling next to him, she tossed another log into the fire, watching the flames lick at the rough edges until it was enveloped.

Charles smoothed her long, brown hair and pinched the apple of her cheek— his typical greeting for his eldest daughter. "Not yet. But the fire was still burning with vigor, so I did not distress. Is the snow still falling?"

"Steadily." She stood, hearing the distant whinny of a horse approaching outside. "I'm sure that'll be Mother. I'll go tend to them."

~O~

After getting her younger sisters, mother and father settled at the table, Isabella served each a bowl of rabbit stew that had been warming over the fire.

"How was the hospital camp today, Mother?"

Renee Swan sighed. "There was no word of thy brother, if that is why thou inquires."

"Samuel is covered under the protection of our Lord." Charles spoke to ease the silence. "He shall come home to us when our great Father sees fit."

"Where is Sammy, Papa?" Charlotte asked. "I do miss his bedtime stories."

"And his aid in daily chores," Alice added, lifting a cloth to clean her younger sister's face.

"Alice Marie Swan," their mother admonished, "remember thyself."

"Forgive me, Mother. I do miss my elder brother greatly."

Charles reached out and patted his middle daughter's delicate hand. "Have faith, my darling girl. He shall be returned to us when his mission is complete."

The roaring fire continued to crackle behind them at their dining table. It was a welcome, soothing warmth after they'd all braved the harsh elements, both human and natural, since dawn.

"I hear the soldiers speaking in camp," Renee added. "General Washington continues to fail at every turn. They say the cause is all but lost."

Isabella concurred. "I hear the same at the tavern. The British officers sing _Yankee Doodle_ whenever they want to bolster the crowd. The Colonials are seen as unruly rebels and always have been."

"Then it was best we stayed true to our faith. Quaker Friends have no place in war."

"But Father, what is best about what's happened to us? We didn't choose a side and in turn we've been punished by both. We all hear the whispers in town. We're Tories to the Colonials and not taking up for the Crown has tarnished us in the eyes of England. To say nothing of the unjust shunning by some of the Friends from the meetinghouse. Our farm won't be able to withstand another season like we just had."

"But Sammy fights for King George," Charlotte chirped. Isabella smiled sadly at her six-year-old sister trying to keep up.

"We've always led a separate way of life from the other townsfolk, girls. Fear not, this is just a lean season."

Isabella dropped her spoon and clenched a defiant fist. "But Father, perhaps we should've taken up with the side where we have a future. The Colonials are fighting for our freedom. Freedom from unfair laws that only benefit England and continue to oppress us." She tried to keep her voice steady but having this same argument from time to time with her family was tiresome.

Renee stared at her daughter. "Is thou suggesting that thy blind father take up arms against his own son?"

Isabella swallowed tightly, burning hot with rage. Her mother was never one to exaggerate the truth, but after arguing for months with Samuel, who eventually left to join the Light Dragoons, Renee had lost her patience with this topic.

"Of course not, Mother. I'm just concerned for this family, and for you. I'm the eldest here. Your hands are full with Alice and Charlotte, and Father with his eyes. We already lost Charlie. And then the b-"

"Enough, Daughter! If thou truly wanted to help, thou knowest a marriage would lessen our burdens. Until then, we shall speak no more on this matter." Renee paused to take a drink from her mug of cider. After a couple of visible deep breaths, she continued, "Alice, Charlotte, gather your bowls and don thy night clothes."

"I'll clean up after them, Mother," Isabella whispered as her younger siblings took their leave to their bedroom. "I'm sorry for bringing up Charlie and the baby."

Her mother stood and walked away without a response.

"It is all right," her father answered, reaching out to squeeze his daughter's fingers. "I know thee wants what is best for this family. But perhaps what we need is simply time." He gave her a soft smile, gathered his cane, and followed the rest of the family toward the bedrooms.

 _Time_? Isabella pondered, swiping frustrated tears from her face. How much more time did they truly have? Winters were always brutal and this season's snow was just getting started. Summers were no better with disease running rampant in the hospital camps. Mother and the girls were exposed constantly. They learned firsthand the dangers that surrounded when tragedy struck and Charlie contracted typhoid and dysentery. Only ten years old and he was gone in less than two weeks. A violent and bloody war continued to rage right outside their door. There were no simple solutions, only a bleak future was promised, it seemed.

But Isabella's priority _had_ to be those who continued to survive within these four walls.

Something had to change.

* * *

" **The battle, Sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, Sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable; and let it come! I repeat, Sir, let it come!" Patrick Henry**

Weeks passed.

Renee, Alice, and Charlotte diligently went off to the hospital camp every morning. They treated all sick and wounded equally; there was no preferential treatment for either Colonist or King's man. It was a facility run by Quaker Friends who remained pacifists and took no part in declaring a side in the conflict.

Charles, with his visual impairment, remained at their Princeton home with the black family who helped run their wheat farm: Rosalie, Emmett, and their fourteen-year-old son, Jasper.

For her part, Isabella continued to walk a mile to Marcus Swan's tavern each day to serve food, drinks, and tend to those staying at the inn. Those who fought to keep her oppressed.

Serving the English and German troops who were there to keep the colonists subservient tested the limits of her forbearance. It was akin to a form of slavery, and her family, along with the Quakers they associated with, held no slaves. They had abolished those horrific beliefs almost a century earlier, though it took decades to spread through many of the colonies. It was satisfying to see so many free blacks in New Jersey and Philadelphia, but the stories that continuously came up from the South were deplorable. People who held those in bondage simply because of the color of their skin were repugnant, and Isabella despised those colonies in the South which hadn't yet conformed to the northern way of thinking.

"May I have another ale, please."

Isabella's thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice at the bar behind her. It caused baby butterflies to flit from one end of her body to the other. "Certainly," she answered, desperately trying to relax her smile before turning around.

"Good afternoon, Miss Swan." The tall British officer grinned with his greeting and bow. "A pleasure to see you again today."

"And to you, Ensign Cullen, thank you." Isabella busied herself by pouring his drink before wiping the already-clean bar top. Every day since the young officer arrived at the inn, he would seek her out for pleasantries, and every day she would find herself flustered but intrigued. Inexperience and sole focus on her family never allowed her to dream of a courtship. It seemed frivolous and unlikely when her primary concern had always been the welfare of her siblings, parents, and their farm. But this gentleman had her fanciful thoughts scattering wildly whenever they'd spend a few moments together.

Ensign Cullen was ever the gentleman, at all times. Whether she served him dinner or drinks, or when she met him in the hall with fresh linens and water for washing, his eagerness to enjoy their interactions, however brief, was made evident through his words and deeds. There were even times he chose not to retire for the evening but rather helped her clean up the main hall, putting stools up on the tables and tossing out dirty dish water. She would plead with him to allow her to finish the work on her own, while he would insist on lightening her load.

He was handsome and thoughtful, inquiring about Isabella's family and their farm. She regaled him with stories about her Quaker faith and how it shaped her family's choices in life. In turn, he shared news of his parents and younger siblings at home in Manchester, England. He missed them terribly, but his sense of duty to King and Country forced him to sail the Atlantic and fight for the Crown. His deep jade eyes emitted a kindness she wasn't privy to in this line of employment. It disarmed her, had her hands feeling clammy, and an evident blush crossing her chest whenever she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Never had she met someone like this man, let alone a British officer. She found it easier to be treated as an outcast surrounded by this often-vile clientele who would boast about their conquests both on the field of battle and in the beds of the vulgar brothel down the road.

This man, she knew in her heart, was exponentially different.

Unable to contain her self-consciousness today, she straightened and stepped back, gesturing to his mug of ale. "Will that be all?"

He nodded. "Perhaps I'll see you at the dinner hour."

"I'll start serving shortly."

"Excellent, thank you." He tucked his tricorne hat under his arm and made his way to the back corner table to join several other officers who called him over.

Flushed, Isabella moved into the kitchen to tend to the potato and corn chowder just as her uncle came around the corner in boisterous laughter.

"Ahh, Niece Isabella,"-he clapped his hands together- "thou shall be sharing a dinner table tonight with young Ensign Cullen." He met her at the kettle, tasting the chowder for himself. "Well done, girl. Our King's men will eat heartily this evening."

Again, heat stretched from her forehead to her belly, and the cause most assuredly was not her proximity to the kitchen fire. "Pardon me, Uncle Marcus. You said I'd be sharing a _table_ with Ensign-"

"Cullen, yes. Fine young man. A good fit for thee and a well-deserved blessing to thy family, I might add." Soldiers bellowed for more ale from out in the main room of the tavern causing Marcus to turn toward the door. "I've spoken at length with my younger brother on this topic, dear girl. He's granted permission for thee to start courting."

Isabella shook her head. "I- I don't understand. Father and Mother never said anything about this to me."

Marcus gave her a pointed look.

"Rather, they never _specifically_ said they were . . . ready for me to . . . to . . ." Isabella faltered as her uncle left her in the kitchen.

~O~

"I'm sorry if I've put you in an uncomfortable position," Edward said quietly. Having finished their meal, Isabella and Edward were standing on the front porch of the inn on this unseasonably warm evening. "I tried to make my intentions known to you."

"Your intentions were evident enough, I suppose." She sighed and shook her head, loose curls falling from the confines of her lace cap. "Having been bound to my duties here at the tavern, clearly I haven't paid enough attention." Isabella stepped to the side of the porch as a group of rowdy soldiers bounded out the door. "I do apologize if I insulted you with my distance, sir."

"Please do not apologize," Ensign Cullen pleaded in all sincerity, his voice soothing. The sound enticed her to hope he'd continue to speak softly to her for days and nights to come. He reached for her delicate hand and grasped it. "I would simply like to continue our . . . friendship . . . in the hopes that perhaps one day, you'll allow me to hold your heart, Miss Swan." She studied their intertwined fingers, a comfort of solace settling in her belly for the first time in almost a year. "That is, if you approve."

Isabella smiled at their clasped hands, feelings of excitement, promise, and peace enveloping her. She lifted her gaze to meet his. "My approval isn't the one you need."

As his eyes studied hers, hearts beat in double-time, drowning out any cadence used as a call to arms. In this moment, the war and declaring a side didn't matter. "But it _is_ the one I long for."

* * *

" **Liberty? Independence? Are they to remain only words?  
Gentlemen, let us make them fighting words!" Nathan Hale**

Ensign Cullen was called away on a mission several days after he and Isabella began courting. She was overwhelmed at the concept of her future already being laid out before her and still somewhat put off that her parents decided this without explanation. She enjoyed a close relationship with her father, but it saddened her that he spoke of these important matters directly with Uncle Marcus, though not with her.

However, she also understood this would greatly benefit her family and their future. It could ensure their safety with the protection of not only their son serving in the 16th Queen's Light Dragoons, but also their future son-in-law, serving as an infantry officer in the 17th Regiment of Foot.

Isabella seemed willing to give up the image of how she imagined her life would've unfolded in place of a life she now had the ability to see and- if she was being honest- desired with her whole heart. Edward, as he requested she address him from now on, next to her family, had become her priority.

~O~

Although Jacob continued to meet his cousin every night to escort her home, Isabella's need to rest after an exhausting day had her leave prior to his arrival one evening. She knew they'd meet along the way since his family's farm was in the same direction as hers.

Lantern in hand, she set off into the bitter December cold. She stayed on the foot path, humming to herself until a flicker of light several hundred paces away in the woods caught her attention.

She slowed, lowering her lantern to the opposite side of her dress for fear of alerting those in the woods of her presence. As she passed, she watched two shadowy figures part, followed by the unmistakable crackling of twigs underneath the powerful legs of a horse.

In an instant, Jacob emerged onto the path, out of breath and apologetic for his tardiness while the other person vanished in the quiet night.

"But what had you off the road and in the darkness?" Isabella asked as they crossed her family's field.

"A soldier required my aid," Jacob answered. "His horse had been injured and needed immediate care."

Isabella quirked her brow, unsure why her cousin would be creating such a tale. She chose to pursue it no further and slid her arm through his, tilting her head toward his shoulder "Well, then what a stroke of luck that you, an animal caretaker, happened along his way."

"Precisely!"

She giggled at his animated response, wondering what Jacob could be hiding.

~O~

"What have you heard from young Ensign Cullen?" Charles asked, joining Isabella and Renee who were knitting in front of the fire.

"He departed with his regiment last week, Father." Isabella flinched, the needle pricking her unexpectedly through the woolen material. "I have no idea where to and he couldn't elaborate."

"Of course," Charles agreed, sipping from his cider.

Renee stopped knitting and stared toward the flames, concentration evident on her face.

"Mother?"

"I'm sorry," Renee responded, shaking her head. "I recalled seeing a gathering of wounded Colonial militia today in camp. Healthy soldiers came to see them, but they caused no bother, so I didn't pay further attention. For a brief moment, my eyes had me thinking Ensign Cullen was in the crowd."

Confused, Isabella too paused, then scoffed. "That would be impossible, Mother. I surely pray he's not been wounded, finding himself in a hospital, but moreover, he wouldn't be consorting with Patriots. Though _we_ have no preference for either, he fights for the King."

"I'm certain it was my bleary eyes after a long day, daughter. Nothing more to concern thyself with."

~O~

"May I escort m'lady home this night?"

Her heart leapt. "Edward!" Isabella rushed up to the open door, her handsome suitor beaming at her reaction. "When did you return to Princeton?" Without answering, he reached for her hand, kissed the delicate skin of her knuckles and pulled her closer to him than she'd ever stood before.

His gaze put her in a trance until Marcus Swan cleared his throat behind them. "Ensign Cullen, glad to see thou hast returned. Here to care for my niece and ensure her safety on the journey to her family's stead?"

"Yes, sir." He bowed politely. "With your permission, of course."

"Thou hast already received both mine and her father's."

Edward's mouth lifted slowly again, gazing down at the young woman. It seemed for each of them that the sight of the other had both temporarily mesmerized. "I was, in fact, asking _her_ permission."

Marcus waved off the young couple as Isabella and Edward ventured out into the snowy evening.

"We shall probably cross paths with my cousin Jacob Swan. He dutifully escorts me home from the tavern in the evenings, but in recent days he's been arriving much later. I am perplexed at what has been keeping him."

"I pray he will not mind me standing in his stead this night. I spoke true when I told your uncle that I had your father's permission to escort you home this evening."

"A soldier who finds the time to be a gentleman as well?" Isabella felt as if she were floating. "I should say that makes me doubly blessed."

Without warning, a rider came around the bend at a flying pace, kicking up snow, dirt, and leaves in his wake. It startled Isabella while Edward drew his saber from its scabbard, prepared for whatever might be following the rider.

To their astonishment, undisturbed silence followed, but again, Jacob Swan appeared moments later, with an explanation of a mare giving birth, which was the cause for his delay.

"I shall take no other excuse from you, cousin. My only request is that you name the foal Isabella." Jacob gave a hearty laugh, hearing her terms, while Isabella continued to inquire about the new life on his farm.

Edward, however, remained nonplussed, quiet . . . and deeply curious. An unidentified rider at this late hour? And so far removed from the town?

His rigorous training and skilled senses alerted him to things not being what they seemed.

* * *

" **I only regret, that I have but one life to lose for my country." Nathan Hale**

"No gentlemen to escort you this evening, niece?"

Isabella stared out the front bay window of Friends' Tavern. The snow fell in magnificent, fluffy flakes unlike the dusting of powder she'd witnessed gather throughout the day. "Perhaps Ensign Cullen was held up with his duties this eve. And cousin Jacob has been busy throughout his days and nights recently, tending to the horses belonging to the militia and cavalry. They're unable to accomplish anything of significance without their war horses."

"It's an odd place to find thyself," Uncle Marcus responded. "Knowing how close we are to both sides of this bloody conflict."

Isabella sighed, feeling ever torn between what she felt was right for her family and the hopeful start of a new nation, while her older brother and the object of her affection fought to keep them under Crown rule. "That it is, Uncle."

"Our beliefs are of peace, my dear. Staying out of harm's way is the safest place for our Friends. We must never forget that. And you, coming together with a young soldier is a wise choice for all involved."

"Wise, yes," she whispered. "I just pray to the Lord my heart can withstand the struggle of seeing him off to war every day."

Silence took over as Isabella continued to sweep the floor and her uncle stoked what remained of the fire.

"Go now, girl. The snow is gathering rapidly. I'm sure the King's men have retired for the remainder of the evening. I shall maintain any patrons who may arrive before we close up for the night."

"Thank you, Uncle Marcus." She kissed him on the cheek, bundled herself in her cloak and muff and turned down the path toward her farm west of Princeton.

She trudged almost the full mile to her home, her feet frozen from the thick coating of snow soaking through her shoes and stockings.

Her eyes blurred in the darkness, imagining she saw movement in the field across from Rosalie and Emmett's cottage. As she drew closer, she realized it was two people, one laying in the snow and the other hovering above.

She trod lightly but stepped on a hidden branch which cracked, alerting the kneeling figure of her presence. It was a soldier who whipped around, musket drawn directly at her. Her breath seized thinking she was to be attacked.

But no shot came.

"Isabella?" She knew his voice in an instant.

"Samuel?" Her heart lightened at the presence of her brother but when she approached, she had to stifle a wail at the sight before her. Their cousin Jacob lay on the ground, bleeding from the gut and mouth.

"No, Jacob Swan, no!" She tore off her coat, bundling it up to press on his gaping wound, as mother had taught her. Tears formed quickly, running down her face. "But why? How . . ." she sniffed, "how did this happen?"

Jacob coughed more blood, his hot breath billowing into small clouds which lingered above his pleading eyes, silently begging his older cousins to take him out of this pain.

Samuel's voice cracked. "By the time I arrived for our meeting, the Bloodybacks had already run him through."

"Redcoats. _Your_ comrades did this!" she cried, wiping the blood away from Jacob's mouth.

"Not mine, sister," Samuel whispered. "Never mine."

Isabella glanced at him, perplexed, but she became distracted seeing a tall, familiar figure approach.

"Isabella?"

Panicking, she rose immediately to stop any further bloodshed of those she held most dear. "Edward please, please take pity, you must help young Jacob."

Edward knelt in the snow next to the boy of fifteen. "I-I was too late, lad, I'm so very sorry." Unshed tears filled Edward's eyes.

"Too late?" Samuel questioned. "Are _you_ the one with whom Jacob had been conducting dead drops?"

Edward paled, nodding once as he watched Jacob Swan's blood soak the snow around them. The young boy coughed a final time before stilling. Isabella sobbed, clutching her cousin's frozen hand.

Samuel stood, wiping the corner of his eye. "He told me he'd been communicating with a King's man stationed in town. The information he'd gathered from you went through me before I corroborated it and sent it along through my contact to Brigadier General Baylor."

"Aide-de-camp to General Washington," Edward murmured before addressing Samuel. "Was your cousin able to relay my most recent transmission?"

Bewildered, Isabella stared through her tears as both men stood, remaining at arm's length. Was she still in her right mind? Could she be hearing them correctly?

Samuel continued to stare at his cousin's lifeless corpse. "Colonel Rahl's Hessian troops are digging in for the winter. An attack led by the Continentals now would surprise and cripple them."

"Soundly."

Isabella rose, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her dress before drying the blood of her cousin on her apron. Her mind was in tatters, and nothing made sense. Once she calmed her irregular gasps, she spoke up with a pinched face. "May I interject?"

Edward reached for her. "Of course!"

She didn't step closer to him but rather straightened, addressing both men with rigidity in her frame and her words, chin jutting out in defiance. "Am I to understand that you're both in His Majesty's Army yet you're- you're _spying_ for the Patriots?" Her question ended in the faintest whisper.

"I am," Samuel replied, longing for her to understand his position.

"As am I," added Edward.

She took another moment to breathe deeply, tilting her face toward the sky to welcome the shower of snowflakes.

"Sister, I wish I could stay to explain further, but I _must_ get this vital information to the General. Jacob's death will not be in vain, this I vow. Please tell Mother, Father and the girls that I love them." He kissed her cheek, gripped Edward's hand to shake, and moved quickly into the blackness of the tree line.

"Isabella, if I might just-"

She held up her hand. "Please say no more. I have to go alert my family of Jacob's condition."

His shoulders dropped, crestfallen. "I never intended to purposefully deceive you."

She whirled around, her dress and petticoat creating a fast-moving breeze underneath the material, sending another chill up her spine. "Was everything you told me a falsehood? Are you from Manchester with seven siblings? Is your name truly Edward Cullen?"

He cleared his throat of the nerves that threatened to overtake this moment. "My name _is_ Edward Cullen. I was born and raised outside of Boston, Massachusetts, and my uncle's name was Joseph Warren."

Isabella's mouth became agape. "Doctor _Joseph_ Warren, President of the Massachusetts Provincial Congress? The same man who sent Paul Revere to warn of the British troop movement?"

He swallowed tightly. "Until the day of his death at Bunker Hill, yes. My parents remained Loyalists and escaped to Canada with my siblings to live under British rule. I, however, stayed to fight wanting to avenge my uncle's death."

Isabella's continuous stream of tears, though burning hot, felt like they were turning to icicles in the brutal storm. She pressed on in need of further answers. "But why not join the cause within the Continental Army?"

"I felt I could be better used if I enlisted to fight for the Crown but worked to achieve what my uncle and the Sons of Liberty started." He stepped closer to her; this time she didn't retreat. "Our cause is a righteous one, Isabella. I had no idea I'd ever meet someone as brave and free-spirited as you. And I know you're torn, respecting your pacifist faith and the wishes of your family. But as you can see, your brother fights alongside me. Sometimes it's easier to conceal oneself among the crowd, all the while gathering crucial information which will ultimately benefit our fight. "

Edward took off his overcoat and gently laid it over Jacob's bloody body. "I'll never ask you to support this campaign if you don't choose to, but I pray I haven't lost you entirely. Let me prove to you that I'm a man worthy of your beautiful heart and mind. One who wants to fight for your freedom and for generations after ours."

"Very well."

Edward's eyes widened to the size of the moon. "You mean to say you'll forgive me? You'll remain in this courtship?"

"I will. On one condition," she spoke strongly.

"Name it."

"Allow _me_ to fight alongside you. This shall be my new country, too. Knowing you and Samuel are conspiring to defeat this oppression renews what I've believed in my soul all along. To quote Mr. Patrick Henry from last year, 'I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death.'"


End file.
